


A Surprise Visit

by Signator34



Category: The Waltons (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29921229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signator34/pseuds/Signator34
Summary: John-Boy must have been too quiet coming up the old stairs...John-Boy comes back from New York and learns something about his little brother.
Relationships: Jason Walton/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All. I recycled George from my first fic. I plan to further elaborate on his and Jason's relationship in another story. Two chapters to follow. Enjoy!

John-Boy must have been too quiet coming up the old stairs.

He'd caught an unexpected ride in from New York and, feeling nostalgic, had walked in from town rather than calling; delighting in the scent of the mountain and the sun-dappled light on the lane. It wasn't a surprise on such a gorgeous afternoon that the entire family would be out on some excursion. That was ok, he thought, rolling up his sleeves. The early summer heat was such a splendid change from a damp New York spring. He'd surprise them when they got home. For the time being he'd enjoy the peace of the empty homestead and let its familiarity erase the strain of travel.

So he'd dropped his bags on the front porch and cast his eyes across the property to the barn. Of course, he'd check on his old safe haven while he had some time; open the windows, air it out, maybe a few of his books were still up there. He mounted the stairs, which had been used recently judging by the footprints in the dust. Maybe it was someone else’s place now. John-Boy grinned; he would have to see about that.

He reached for the rusty doorknob without thought, knocking a shoulder into the door, and recoiled in shock at finding it jammed. No, he jiggled the unmoving knob; it was locked. And here was his own key, still on his keychain, but was it right for him to use it? If someone had locked the door, they probably hadn’t figured on him showing up and getting in anyway. He stood reasoning the situation out- no one had ever accused John-Boy Walton of backing away from curiosity-when a funny sound reverberated from the back of the loft. He paused his musings to listen and there it was again: a soft cooing almost like pigeons. Another of Elizabeth’s animal projects? Well, he resolved, key in hand, no one was keeping pigeons in his loft.

He didn’t burst through the door in his usual fashion. He was still calm from his walk and New York had managed to school some of the unruliness out of him. Perhaps if he’d only made more noise or been less sure of his right to enter, he may have been spared. Horror struck him, left his heart pounding, hands shaking as he gaped at the figures tangled on the old couch in struggle.

_Someone_ was accosting, violating his little brother here in this safe place. Was pinning him down and driving out those hurt noises, stealing his voice and tainting his body. John-Boy froze in the doorway; unable to comprehend and unable to charge in as the protector his brother needed. Shame and bile churned in his gut. He tried to reach out but paused.

There was Jason’s hand, not pushing or flailing, but wrapped around the stranger’s hip where Jason’s wiry strength was sure to bruise. The way reality slanted sideways when that hand began a slow slide up the other man’s waist- a caress, some internal dictionary argued- was almost enough to knock John-Boy over.

“Jason!”

He regretted it the minute he hissed it out. If he could have been silent, just this once, he could have had the time to figure this out, but now Jason knew he’d seen. One look at the rising panic on his brother’s flushed face and John-Boy bolted.

Jason caught up to him in the sawmill looking somber and a bit rumpled. John-Boy opened his mouth to say something placating, but he was silenced by the anger in Jason’s eyes.

“Don’t you dare write about us, John-Boy!” His quiet, thoughtful brother raged, shouting and stiff like he’d never seen.

“I’m serious. Write about your freak-perverted brother all you want, but don’t you dare wreck his life!”

“Whoa, whoa!” John-Boy took a big gulp of air and pried his brother’s hands from his lapels.

“Jason, hold on a minute.”

He could feel a headache building behind his forehead, like his glasses were wrong again. He took a step back.

“I mean it, I won’t allow it!”

“I’m not going to write about it!”

John-Boy may have felt guilty about how he shouted if it hadn’t worked. Jason’s shoulders slumped and he backed away, leaning on the workbench as if for support. John-Boy tried to organize his thoughts.

“I just- I just- I go off to New York and then come back to surprise everyone and find you, well…”

Because what could he call it? _In flagrante delicto_ was screaming to the head of the list, but Latin wouldn’t get his point across to Jason. He needed a more common and more compassionate term.

“And I find you here with a…” He struggled, although privately John-Boy thought “with” didn’t even begin to cover it. He pictured the hand and its slow slide, the little sounds, before banishing both in a fit of embarrassment.

“Say it. I was with a man; another man.”

John-Boy was shocked, not at Jason’s candor, but again at the bitterness he’d never heard from his easy-going sibling. It made his heart ache. But he’d be bitter too, wouldn’t he? If his friends and neighbors wanted to lynch him because of who he might kiss on the porch swing. There, that was an innocent image he could fathom. He marveled at the realization. One day calm, quiet, easy0going Jason had gotten up and gone out only to come back knowing he’d be strung up in a noose if everyone knew what he knew.

It had to be a hell of a thing to face.

Silence rang in the sawmill. The chill was setting in as the sun began to fall. Jason was still glaring at him, his fists clenched, but John-Boy could see his hands shaking.

“Aren’t you scared?” Were the only words he could manage.

Suddenly the other man seemed to withdraw. He took in John-Boy with a thoughtful expression.

“Not enough, I guess.” He joked at length. It was a poor attempt at levity, but a thousand times better than the hard bitterness of before.

“You weren’t expecting _anyone_?”

He hadn’t chastised Jason for being reckless in quite some time. Jason didn’t get into fights or make bad financial decisions or go after women who were spoken for-though now he might guess why. There was a longsuffering sign and Jason smoother his hands over his shirt.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” He drew a breath to ask something, and an unmistakable horn cut the silence.

The stillness of Walton’s mountain, broken only by their voices, was suddenly overrun by the grinding of an engine and a chorus of different conversations. Jim-Bob’s old car through rocks as it peeled up to the house, its driver leaning on the ridiculous horn as it trundled up the lane, the family all competing to speak clearly above the din. The two eldest boys were visible to them as they leapt from the vehicle, hollering for John-Boy with obvious delight.

John-Boy could only stare at them, his mouth moving with all of the questions he had desperately wanted to ask. He glanced back at Jason, caught a glimpse of terror before his brother mouthed “please” and disappeared into the workshop.


	2. Our Way of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tense homecoming supper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short interlude before the final chapter, which I will post soon. Enjoy!

Jason reappeared seconds later as John-Boy was fielding a half-dozen questions and hugs, only just beginning to understand that his brother had been begging him not to tell. They carried the shopping in for supper and sat down to meal; just like they had so many times before. Jason smiled his old smile and asked his own questions about New York. John-Boy could almost believe he’d imagined the afternoon’s events or dreamed them in the porch swing after a long ride.

“Have some more.” Mama urged, passing him the mash. She turned her eyes down the table to where Jason was apparently deep in thought over his own plate.

“Didn’t George want to stay for supper, Jason?”

John-Boy twitched, nearly upending the gravy, but Jason’s mask of calm didn’t waver.

“No Mama, he said he had some cleaning to do in the old cabin. Says it’s so stuffed to the rafters with family heirlooms he’ll need an army convoy to clear it out.” The younger man lied smoothly, a hint of laughter in his voice.

“George is Jason’s new friend,” Elizabeth explained, mistaking John-Boy’s silence for confusion and reaching past her brother for the peas despite Olivia’s glowering.

“He’s in the army! I don’t know why though. There’re no wars being fought right now.”

“We’ve still got to have an army.” Ben cut in with a scoff. “We’ve got to be ready for a fight anytime.”

“There are all kinds out there who gladly see our way of life destroyed if they could.” Zeb added sagely. “Even within our own country.”

John-Boy swallowed a lump in his throat, caught Jason’s eye down the table and looked back into his plate. He imagined Grandpa meant disruptors and anarchists and not just those folks going about their lives, but how was he to know? It occurred to him that the rest of the family might just see Jason more as one of ‘those,’ less as ‘one of us’. Suddenly, the imperative task of keeping his brother’s secret was a leaden weight on his shoulders, knowing that Jason’s trust would depend on John-Boy deceiving their loved ones along with everyone else.

“There’s no need to talk about that at the dinner table.” Decreed Mama, asking Elizabeth about her schoolwork to divert the conversation. John-Boy took a deep breath and tried to shake off his fear.

“You alright, son?” John was giving him that same thoughtful look which Jason had inherited: a bit too knowing.

“You look awfully pale.”

The words ‘goddammit no’ were almost past John-Boy’s lips when he snapped his mouth shut. No. How could he be alright? His brother was living a lie, hiding a thousand things under his easy smile and they’d all been unable to see it. Now John-Boy had to be complicit in hiding them, lest even these closest family members condemn Jason for what he was.

“I’m fine,” He smiled instead. “It was a long bumpy ride from New York, is all.”

“I’ll get your room fixed up so you can rest.” Mama reassured him, and he dearly wanted to, but there had to be a second act to the conversation in the sawmill. There were some things he had to know.

“Actually, Mama, I was planning to go up to the old loft and read for a while.” He smiled, trying to match his brother mask for mask. “If Jason doesn’t mind.”

Jason gave him a bitter, toothy grin.

“I was going to go up and practice a few songs, but if you don’t mind background music.”

It seemed impossible that the rest of the family missed how carefully they were choosing their words; the staring contest they were having.

“What do you and George do all day anyway?” Erin poked as she and Olivia began clearing the table.

“I bet they go out and impress all of the girls.” John laughed, grinning at Olivia’s frown.

“A smart army boy and a musician can’t have too hard a time impressing the ladies.” Zeb agreed.

Jason stared into the tabletop, turning beet red. He looked like he might be sick.

“Stop teasing the boy.” Olivia warned, ruffling Jason’s hair. “He’ll never bring George ‘round again if he thinks we’ll torture him.”

“Maybe.” Pa agreed, sharing a private smile with his wife. Jason turned to Erin.

“We talk about all the girls in town and which ones are the best kissers.” He drawled easily, getting up and leaving before she shook off her scandalized expression.


End file.
